No Need for Luck
by Gossamer Nightmare
Summary: There was less than a month left until Arthur was to be thrown from his apartment, and his options were spread thin. On top of his struggle with his pride, he must deal with his ongoing fight for sobriety with the help of an addiction group.


No Need for Luck

**A/N: **I took a break from False and Cadence of the Spring to write this. The idea just stuck to my brain like glue, so I had to get rid of it in order to continue with either of them… Yes, this is an AU setting, and human names are used. I hope you all enjoy it despite its suckitude (I wrote this in a day, so it's not going to be all that great)!

**Rating:** T, for some mentions of abuse in characters' pasts, some coarse language (maybe twice? I wasn't counting), etcetera.

**Pairing: **USxUKxUS, hints at possible RussiaxChina towards the end.

**Summary: **There was less than a month left until Arthur was to be thrown from his apartment, and his options were spread thin. On top of his struggle with his pride, he must deal with his ongoing fight for sobriety with the help of an addiction group.

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**Friday, January 15****th****, 2010**

"I've been having this nightmare every day for the past year now. There are bodies, many of them covered in bullet wounds or bite marks – sometimes burns, or what looks to be necrosis. They just lie there, piled on one another, making mounds that resemble small sledding hills children build in the winters for fun. I'm not in a graveyard, I know that…but I'm not quite sure _where_ I am. Sometimes I think it's a battlefield, but then it _can't_ be, because there are no signs of an army of any kind, invading or not. Other times I think it's the backyard I used to play in when I lived with my real parents, because I do, on occasion, see that old swing-set looming in the background, with its chain-link swings creaking… If it is that backyard – _please God,_ _don't_ let it be _that backyard_ – then I know that the feeling that I am being watched comes from some back porch I cannot see, perhaps hidden in the perpetual fog, and those eyes that constantly follow me with insatiable, drunken hunger are my father.

"I would think that the sobbing is my mother, but other times I think it's me. Throughout the dream, I walk among the bodies, trying to locate that sound. I'll call out, _'Where are you?'_ and receive a louder sob in return. Then I scream over their voice, so frantic, so worried, '_Who are you?!_' and they will get louder yet. Finally, I run forward, dodging bodies that have somehow rolled from their mounds onto the cleared path in that grassy field, until there's only one in sight. It's someone I used to know, but their face is darkened with fatigue, and their eyes are dull, looking at me, but somehow through me, as if they've grown tired of seeing me all this time…

"I ask again, '_Who are you?!'_, and they answer me – their voice is so…_so_ tired – '_You don't recognize me?_' I ask them, _'Should I?'_ and they laugh, but it's not really a laugh, because they have no reason to be happy…and answer, '_I'm you, Arthur.'_ Then I realize I've been looking through a mirror the whole time. I've never left the bathroom. Not once. …And that's when I wake up."

Everyone around Arthur in that circle nods respectfully. Some murmur sympathetic phrases that come off the top of their head, though most are silent. He doesn't care for the rest of them – this is his time, as the instructor has said, to say what he wants. To purge himself of all negative thoughts and emotions with ten minutes every meeting; this time, he has chosen to speak of his nightmare.

"What do you think this dream means, Arthur?" The group's director, Yao, asks in a gentle voice Arthur has grown used to in the past few months of his recovery.

"I think…I think it means that I don't quite know myself anymore. That I've made my life the way it is. I don't know…does it sound like I'm holding a lot of guilt?"

"From what you've described, that's what it sounds like, aru. I believe that there are some underlying problems in your past…I'm not a psychiatrist anymore, Arthur, but I think you might want to talk about your childhood. It's something to think about, aru." He smiles a bit, nodding his head.

"Sure," Arthur scowls. He bitterly remembers the last time he'd considered talking to the people in his group about his past. That was the day he decided that it was far too painful a subject to bring up again, no matter who he was speaking to. "That will be all from me, for the day."

"Thank you for sharing that with us, Arthur. Who would like to be next, aru?" A tall fellow raises his hand. "Ah, thank you, Ivan – what do you want to talk about today, aru?"

As Ivan begins a long-winded speech about his terrible day on Monday, Arthur tunes him out. The Styrofoam cup in his hand, half-emptied, has now gone cold. His eyes slide shut, going back to that happy time in his head when he'd been employed, paid rent on a fantastic, roomy apartment and everything was affordable. Three years ago. Three years ago, he'd had it all. He'd been a perfectly happy man, before that day came on the calendar, and he'd picked up a beer bottle and crawled deep down into it, hiding in shame from the world that shunned him…

Thirty minutes later, the meeting is concluded until next week, when discussion will be picked up once again. Arthur pulls on his coat and strolls out the door without another word, his cup left abandoned on the foldable chair he claimed as his own among those set up in a circle. As he always is, Alfred stands outside in the cold January air, waiting for Arthur with a small smile. "Hey, Arthur! How'd it go?" The typical greeting among the two on Fridays, now that Arthur has entered recovery, after such a long fight with himself and his friends; in the end, Arthur could not deny that everything was perfectly fine. That realization came the morning he woke up in the gutter, hair, skin and clothes dirtied by his own vomit, with no recollection of the night before or how he got where he'd passed out for the night. Thus began the torturous climb out of the bottle.

"As it normally goes," Arthur replies snappishly. It is a normal response as well. Guilt always follows his response. Without fail, Alfred looks wounded for just a second before he springs back into a cheerful attitude.

"Do you wanna get something to eat, Arthur? I'll pay," he offers, follow at Arthur's side as his elder begins to walk off.

"I'm fine. But if you're hungry, I'll keep you company." As it turns out, this was just the case. Arthur was led into a partially-abandoned diner and forced to watch his lover-of-three-years eat his typical lunchtime meal of a burger and fries. Upon the menus were pictures of alcoholic drinks, all appealing, taunting Arthur without words or expressions. He shuts his eyes tight, mutters to himself what has managed to save him every time he's passed a bar or gone out to eat, "_Five months sober…five months sober!_"

"Hm?" Alfred stuffs a few fries into his mouth before continuing. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing," Arthur replies too quickly to fool Alfred, who he has found is very easy to fool in the days he snuck out of his apartment to go to bars in the middle of the night. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

"If you say so," Alfred's eyes hold suspicion, but he drops the subject. For this, Arthur is thankful.

**Friday, January 22****nd****, 2010**

"What do you want to talk about today, Arthur?" Yao smiles at him, using that soft voice Arthur supposes should be comforting.

"I guess I'll talk about something I've known for a long time, but have been too afraid to speak of," Arthur begins, closing his eyes, a sigh passing his lips. "By the end of the month, I'm supposed to leave my apartment. I can't pay the rent anymore – I've had the luck, at least, of my aunt and uncle paying back my landlord all the rent I've missed. A terrible fee I don't want to mention…it nauseates me just thinking about it. To state the obvious, I don't know where I'm going to go. I don't want to ask for any help from my friends, or even my family. It's just…it's humiliating! I should be able to live on my own!

"I hate having to ask for help. I hate _admitting_ that I need help. Even going to these meetings is terrible for me. It just seems like a grown man should be able to handle himself though, don't you think? I'm pathetic. I know that's what you're all thinking. I'm pathetic…" He rubs at his face, pressing his thumb against one lidded eye and his index and middle finger against the other.

"No one thinks that, aru. We all need help, Arthur. Sometimes, what it means to be an adult is to face your fears and admit that you need help. Am I right?" Yao looks around the group at the others.

Ivan nods gently. "Yao is right, Arthur. When my home was lost to foreclosure, I had to move in with my sisters. It was humiliating, but…at least I have a place to stay, right? You seem strong enough, Arthur. I think you can admit to yourself that you need help. And I _know_ you'll have a place to stay by the end of the month."

"You actually think that?" Arthur looks up at the ten people he's become familiar with in the past five months, all nodding their belief in him and giving them their encouragement. He almost laughs, thinking about how different Ivan is when he's on the streets. The Russian almost never says such nice things to Arthur, though he can say that this is largely due to their history together in school. It seems like these meetings bring out a nicer side to him, while they rarely affect Arthur aside from irritating him. He smiles slightly. "Well, thank you. Maybe I will be able to do this after all…"

"We're all glad to hear that, Arthur," Yao smiles at him again. "Letting go of your pride is a very big step towards your recovery! We'd all be happy to hear how things work out for you next week, aru."

"I'll be sure to fill you all in, then," Arthur's smile widens, "for now, that's it for me."

"Thank you for sharing, Arthur! Who would like to be next, aru?"

Predictably, Ivan raises his hand, and this time, Arthur listens when he starts talking about his childhood. He hangs on every word, every little detail, and wonders how Ivan can have the courage to speak of the foul things done to him as a child. Ivan, not meeting anyone's gaze like he used to, staring at his shoes and holding himself, voice shaking when recalling particularly violent moments – Arthur was amazed. When the Russian finished his tale, Arthur made the decision to speak of his own past next meeting, a small bit of courage lent to him by a man with so much.

Three more people went before they were dismissed, ready to meet again next week. Arthur buttons up his coat and throws away his Styrofoam cup, meeting Alfred outside. "Hey, Arthur! How'd it go?"

"Well," Arthur answers truthfully. Alfred seems pleasantly surprised by the breakup of their Friday routine.

"So do you want to get something to eat?"

"If you'll pay…then that sounds just fine." Arthur walks in-step with Alfred to the diner they'd visited last week, ordering a piece of pie, while Alfred orders, as usual, a burger and fries. They eat in a relatively peaceful silence, though anxiety steadily builds up in Arthur's gut. He suddenly dreads knowing that he must leave his apartment in less than two weeks, making his throat tighten painfully. His eyes sting.

"Arthur," Alfred's tone is serious. Arthur looks up to find that his food has gone unfinished, something that tells Arthur there is something seriously wrong now. He sucks in a breath and holds it, waiting for the inevitable. "Arthur I know you have to be out of your apartment by the end of the month. I know you don't have anywhere to go, and I know you haven't asked anyone. This is something I've been meaning to ask you for a while, but…would you move in with me?"

Anger surges through him. Arthur grits his teeth and answers, quite stubbornly despite the fact that Alfred is answering his prayers, "No. I can find a place on my own. Don't worry about me, Alfred. I don't want your charity."

"Arthur! You can't just – you can't—!" Alfred looks hurt, and for a moment, Arthur regrets answering the way he had. "Where are you going to go?"

"I'll find some place. As I said, quit worrying about me!" Arthur stands up to leave, but a strong grip on his wrist refuses to release him. He snaps his head back to glare at Alfred, his blood running cold at the distressed expression and the pain in his voice.

"_Why won't you let me help you, Arthur?_"

He rips his wrist free and rushes from the diner without looking back, wondering how his readiness to drop his pride and admit that he needs help could have left him at that moment.

**Monday, January 25****th****, 2010**

The two have not talked since Friday. Arthur now paces about his apartment, most of his belongings boxed up – not that he has very much he cares to bring with him, wherever he will be going – wondering if he should apologize or not. If he has the _ability_ to apologize or not; Alfred has always been the first to apologize, no matter if it was his fault or not. His hand shakes as he fishes his cell phone from his pocket and dials "one" on his phone, biting his lip when the desire for a drink sets in once again. He presses his phone to his ear as it begins to ring.

Arthur gets the answering machine. He groans, presses end, and calls back, pacing in a frantic circle, fearful that Alfred is still mad and will not answer. Halfway through, Alfred picks up. "Sorry," he sounds tired, "I didn't get to my phone the first time. Is there any reason you're calling me at four in the morning?"

Arthur had, in all honesty, forgotten about the time. He'd forgotten that he hadn't slept a solid minute since Friday. "It's alright, Alfred, and…I'm sorry. Really, I'm sorry. For waking you up, and for upsetting you on Friday…Alfred, I _do_ need your help." Arthur leans against a wall, sliding down it to sit upon the floor. "And I…I don't know where I'm going to go – I don't want to admit it, but I am, I am! I'm scared, Alfred, I—"

"Sh, Arthur. I understand. If you need anything, I'm here for you. I'm not going to let you do this alone, Arthur." His tone soothes Arthur's frazzled nerves and brings a state of calm back to him.

"Alfred?"

"Mhm?"

"Thank you. I really don't know what I'd do without you," he admits, both to himself and to Alfred, listening so patiently on the other line. "I needed this."

Alfred laughs quietly. "I know." There is a slight pause before he continues, "So you will move in with me?"

"That would be a yes," Arthur smiles a bit.

"Mm, good. It'll be nice to see you every day when I get home…"

They continued talking until it was time for Alfred to get up for his morning classes at the University.

**Friday, January 29****th****, 2010**

"It's good to see you've brought along a guest, Arthur," Yao smiles at the two as they take seats next to one another. "Have you found a place to stay?"

"I have, actually," Arthur smiles over at Alfred, who smiles in return.

"That's wonderful, aru! We're all so happy to hear that!" Yao looks around at the others briefly. "Who would like to go first today?"

Arthur raises his hand, "Actually, if you don't mind…I would like to go first today."

"No one minds at all, Arthur. What will you be talking about today, aru?"

"I want to talk about my past," he begins, feeling Alfred slip his hand into his grasp, squeezing gently. This is enough encouragement to allow him to continue. "I lived with my parents until I was twelve. My father worked for a large company for many years…but he was fired for his bad choice in investment. I was only three when this happened, but I understood what was going on. He had no job, no way of supporting us. That was when he started drinking. Every damn day, he'd come home, out of his mind, not himself…and my mother would hide from him. She left me alone with him." Steadily, rage built up in his body, channeled into his voice, made him quiver uncontrollably. Alfred pets the back of his hand in an attempt to soothe him. "She left me alone with _him_. And do you know what he did?

"He molested me! He touched me almost every day, for nine years, until…until I had enough of it. I was afraid of what he might do to me one day, because he hurt me not just mentally, but physically…enough where I found almost everyone in my life disgusting for many, many years – I hated being around others because of him! When he was passed out on the sofa one day, I called my aunt and uncle, and told them everything. They took me in, thank God…but I still wonder why things were the way they were. Why did my father have to be that way when he was drunk? Why couldn't he have just hit me, rather than use me the way he did? Why didn't my mother stop him, or tell anyone? I keep thinking these things, and I can't stop, even though I know they'll never be answered, and are best left untouched.

"Now how ironic is it that I end up an alcoholic, too? I think I drank for the same reason as he did. When I lost my job, I was afraid. Drinking erased the pain, even if it was temporary. It made me numb to everything…everything should not be numb, though. I shut _everyone_ out when I drank. I don't have many friends, but those that I do have are very close. It would be terrible to lose them…and I'm grateful that I'm getting the help I need. By telling you all this, I hope it helps me recover. I haven't told a soul about my past, and I'm extremely grateful that I've gained the courage to talk about it. Thank you." He looks away from the others, who clap, telling him that he's strong, that it took a lot of courage to talk about something like that.

Alfred leans over to whisper into his ear before Yao speaks, "I'm proud of you," and he smiles, forcing Arthur's attention to his face rather than the floor.

"It's good to hear you let go of all this by talking about it, Arthur. Talking about such a serious topic is difficult; though I'm sure you all understand this, aru." As usual, Yao smiles – but Arthur feels it warming him a bit this time.

"Yes, well…I believe I'm done."

"Alright, Arthur. Who would like to go next, aru?" Ivan raises his hand instantly, as Arthur has accurately predicted every time.

It takes an hour for this week's meeting to end. Arthur puts on his coat and walks out the door, with Alfred following close behind, their day planned out. They have lunch together before walking back to Arthur's apartment, loading up the boxes into Alfred's car – parked outside before they walked to the meeting – until they're gone. All the furniture is thrown into the nearby dumpster, leaving Arthur with pictures, knickknacks and clothes, all few and far between. He was left with seven boxes in all. Once finished, the two sit on the carpeted floor of Arthur's now-barren apartment, backs against the wall, silent until Arthur speaks up, "I wonder where things will go from here…" He is staring up at the ceiling.

Alfred puts his hand atop Arthur's, smiling gently at him. "We'll just have to find out, won't we?"

"Hm…I'm going to miss this place. It's painfully real, just sitting in here, knowing that I won't be waking up in the same place ever again." Arthur lets his head rest against Alfred's shoulder.

"But at least you'll be with me, right?"

Arthur laughs quietly. "Yes, that's true. I'll be with you…and that is, perhaps, the sweetest thing gained in this whole mess I call my life."

Alfred stands, pulling Arthur up with him. "We should probably get going now." Arthur nods in agreement and follows his lover through the door, down the staircase and back outside, to the silver car waiting on the street, which they enter and enjoy the silence cushioned by the radio playing songs Alfred occasionally hums along to, while Arthur stares out the window of the passenger's seat, watching his old home disappear along the road, his new home not too far away. Alfred helps bring the boxes up to his own apartment on the top floor, where the tape is cut open to remove the photos and small personal belongings. "You can put your clothes in the second closet in my—our—bedroom, Arthur," Alfred instructs, while looking at the framed pictures he recognizes from his visits and from the dates they were taken.

"I'll do that," Arthur carries one box after the other into their bedroom – three in total – and puts his clothing on the hangers, his shoes on floor, and his ties on the rack towards the back of the closet. Once finished, he walks into the open-floored living room, smirking at the sunny smile Alfred wears. "You like those pictures?"

"How can I not?" Alfred turns, still grinning, to look at Arthur.

"Which do you have there?" Arthur walks over to stand at Alfred's side, laughing at the photo. "Ah, that one – I had that hung in my living room."

Alfred laughs as well, "You really enjoyed our first date? I thought it was kind of a disaster! You were annoyed half the night!"

"I enjoyed it, nonetheless." Arthur picks up a different frame, this time from their first anniversary. "This was a nice memory…I had that in my bedroom."

"I remember seeing this one in your apartment," Alfred smiles at the photo. The next photograph Alfred picks up causes the both of them to laugh. "This is a year ago, from our New Year's party! I have this one on my nightstand."

"It's only on your nightstand because we're kissing, I bet," Arthur jabs his elbow in Alfred's side, though he laughs as he does so.

"You had it in your bedroom too, though!" Alfred picks up yet another photo, though he frowns at it. "I don't remember this one…"

"That's because I took it while you were sleeping," Arthur laughs, yanking it from Alfred's hands and putting it back down. "It's my favorite, so that one will go in the bedroom."

"Whatever you say," Alfred pulls Arthur close, to kiss him on the forehead, the nose, and the lips. Moving in to Alfred's apartment turned out to be an enjoyable experience for Arthur.

**Friday, February 5****th****, 2010**

"As you know, this is our last meeting, aru. These last six months have been wonderful. You've all come a long way, and I can see that you're all going to continue your sobriety for the rest of your lives. I really hope things work out for you all! You deserve the best, aru. Today, to end this chapter and begin a new one, we're going to let go of our regrets once and for all. Everyone has a piece of paper and a pencil with them, aru. On that piece of paper, I want you to write down everything you regret in your life, and fold it up. Then, when everyone is finished, we'll all throw our regrets onto the fire. So go on, everyone. It's time to let go, aru."

Arthur knows what he is going to write before Yao even finishes his explanation of the exercise. He picks up his pencil and begins:

'_Not being strong enough to speak about my past to anyone before. Not being able to prevent my father's abuse. Being too damn proud and arrogant to see the harm I was causing. Allowing myself to get terrible before getting help, and not accepting that I needed help, no matter who told me I needed it. Feeling like everything was my fault, but taking it out on others. Not showing Alfred as much love as I could have, and not giving him the credit he deserves for being a wonderful person. He was there all along, and I took him for granted.'_

A long paragraph that he finds takes up most of the half-sheet of paper given to him. Arthur folds it in half, seals it with a piece of tape, and waits for the others to finish. It is Ivan that takes the longest to write his regrets – he covers the whole half-sheet, including the back, before he folds it and seals it with tape. Most were surprised to see Yao write his own regrets down. "You may throw them in now, aru."

Arthur stares at that fire in the middle of them for a good long time. Most have thrown their papers in, but Arthur has not. Ivan was the very first to rid himself of it. With a shuddering breath, Arthur seals his eyes shut and tosses that paper onto the purging fire, and with it, a great weight from his body follows. A great chorus of cheers and applause resounds once all their regrets are gone; people standing up to joyfully get their coats and leave. Ivan strikes up a conversation with Yao, the two exchanging pieces of paper Arthur guesses hold their phone numbers on. He smirks at this and shakes his head, buttoning up his coat as he gives farewells to everyone, walking from the place he once considered his prison, but now considered half of the reason he was sober for half a year.

"Arthur!" Alfred pulls Arthur into a hug, kissing the top of his head. "How'd your last meeting go?"

"It was great, Alfred," Arthur hugs his lover back, smiling up at him. "I think…I think I've made good progress in this whole mess. Don't you?"

"I do," Alfred nods, smiling back. "So…"

"Yes, I would love to go out to eat, Alfred."

**Friday, February 26****th****, 2010**

Arthur checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror once again, combing through his hair, adjusting his tie to the left just a tad, frowning slightly. "I still look like a slob."

"You look fine, Arthur." Alfred leans over to kiss Arthur on the cheek. "Very handsome, if I may add." He laughs when Arthur swats him away for the added comment.

"I think you're just being generous, but if you insist," Arthur passes Alfred and opens the door to their apartment, allowing Alfred – who had trailed after him – one last kiss before his departure for what he hoped would be a successful job interview. "Wish me luck!"

"You won't need it, 'cause you'll be great!" The door slams shut, and Alfred is left alone to do homework. He catches a glimpse of Arthur exiting their apartment building and walking to the left, a bar across the street that he pays no attention to. Alfred smiles proudly at that.

Arthur didn't need that luck after all.


End file.
